Hate Crime
by alli-sun
Summary: Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N – **As much as I adore Booth/Bones, I adore slash even more. And as Zack is essentially the male version of Bones…well. I had to.

This takes place during the 4th season as an alternative ending of sorts.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Angela was, predictably, the first to greet him. Zack walked in and before he could even see the platform of the main lab, Angela had spotted him, shrieked as if she'd found the perfect pair of shoes, and enveloped him into her arms. It was quite a welcoming, but just a tad too stifling.

"I'm so glad you're back!" She cried, smiling into his shoulder.

"As happy I am to see you, I must ask that you stop crushing my diaphragm and allow me to breathe," Zack informed her, though he grinned in spite of himself.

"Oh yeah, it's definitely you," Angela gave him a little pat, "Welcome back, mastermind. Whenever it gets too quiet around here, I'll have your robot voice to go to."

"Zack!" It was Hodgins. Zack allowed himself into another bone-crushing hug, deciding that a few more seconds of lost air was a fairly acceptable price for greeting his best friend. "It's great to see you back! I got the memo just yesterday and I'm telling you buddy, I jumped out of my seat!"

"He did, I saw him," Angela smirked. "He spilled his coffee all over his work station; big time technology issues."

"I can take care of money with the Jeffersonian," Hodgins snorted. "I just have to live with the damage for a couple days. So, first day back! Feeling all better?"

"What did your psychiatrists say?" Angela asked.

"I think they were intimidated by my constant display of intellectual aptitude," Zack began, "and they did mention that they found my incapability to emotionally connect to the human race as a whole rather troubling, but they concluded that I was fit for society." Zack adjusted his gloves slightly, flexing his fingers. Angela and Hodgins pretended not to notice. "They also suggested that romantic involvement with someone would help me assimilate."

"Great! We'll get you a girlfriend," Hodgins grinned.

Zack raised his eyebrows, saying nothing. Hodgins frowned at his lack of enthusiasm. "Isn't that…what they meant?"

"I'm not sure how comfortable you would feel to hear this—"

"Oh honey, don't worry," Angela smiled knowingly. "We'll get you a hot piece o' man instead."

Hodgins looked rather taken aback, but taking Zack's silence as confirmation, his face relaxed into a chuckle. "Wow, really?"

"It probably wasn't the intention of therapy," Zack said sheepishly. "However somehow, while examining interpersonal relationships, I realized that I found certain prospective attributes of having a male partner both comforting and attractive."

"You know," Angela murmured to Hodgins, "when I came out, I just said, 'Daddy, I'm bi,' and that was it."

"Do either of you mind?" Zack asked.

"Nope, it just changes the game plan a little."

"What?"

"We'll get you a _hot piece o' man_, as Angela likes to put it," Hodgins assured him, dodging Angela's little slap on the arm. "We'll get you tons. Your libido better be high after all those months alone."

The three friends walked away together, arms around Zack, as he expressed with genuine confusion, "But what would I do with a _piece_ of a man?"

* * *

"Alright, before we retrieve the remains from the scene," Dr. Brennan began, "Booth has some announcements to make regarding FBI regulation."

Booth, who was sitting down a couple feet away from the group, looked as if he'd been wishing not to hear his name. "They were _suggestions_, Bones," He muttered. "We don't have to follow them. And I really don't like the sound of—"

"What kind of regulation are we talking about here?" Cam interjected.

"Well unfortunately, Zack is currently viewed as a potentially hazard in the lab," Dr. Brennan said, ignoring Booth's noisy little hints to be quiet. "Not by my personal opinion, I assure you. Dr. Goodman and the FBI didn't think that it would be safe to reemploy Zack. However, I convinced them that, criminal record aside, Zack is a valuable asset to the team and has helped solve a number of cases. So the FBI has recommended some new arrangements. Essentially, Zack and I would temporarily trade places."

"Trade places," Zack repeated. "If they are suggesting that I live like you…I'd rather not wear women's clothes."

"She means you two would switch tasks," Cam said plainly. Oh, how she missed Zack's hyper-literal attitude.

"Basically, a bad idea," Booth cut in. He got up from the chair and stood in front of Zack, arms crossed. Zack seemed to shrink just a tad. "This is just the FBI being paranoid about you blowing things up again. I said that all I had to do was look you in the eye and, you know," his hand patted his gun affectionately, "convince you to behave."

"And _I_ said that intimidation would not help the situation," Dr. Brennan said crossly. "Booth, this is a perfectly logical arrangement. I'll spend most of my time in the lab and Zack will go with you to collect evidence, question suspects—"

"This kid? Question suspects?" Booth snorted disbelievingly.

"It's only for a couple cases. And when Sweets deems it safe for Zack to work more in the lab, which in itself is nothing more than a mere formality, we can return to how we always were."

Cam raised her eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all, actually. We'd work just as efficiently, if not more."

"We'll get to see Brennan more around the lab," Angela smiled.

"I'll be permanent King of the Lab," Hodgins added.

"Only until I return," Zack corrected him quickly, "which renounces the permanence of your position."

"Look guys, stop talking about this like it's already going to happen," Booth sighed.

"It's a democracy, Seeley," Cam smirked, a sardonic little twinkle shining in her eye. She stood leaning on the tabletop, arms and ankles crossed. "Looks like you're outnumbered."

Booth looked at Zack, who returned the gaze apprehensively. He let the idea sink in that he would spend the next week, weeks, hell maybe even months (it all depended on how long these cases would take) driving the squint around and listening to his logical ramblings and awkward sex questions. "Oh Lord, have mercy," Booth groaned, making the cross.

"I don't understand him sometimes," Dr. Brennan whispered to Cam.

"And I do. I think that's the sad part," Cam chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – I'm going to try to make this sound as much like an actual episode as possible. I don't know jack about forensics, so it's going to sound a bit underdeveloped. But I think the point of this whole story is to get Booth to bang Zack so I don't think I'll get any complaints about scientific accuracy. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Alright, here's how this is gonna work," Booth said, his hand on the wheel and his eyes not bothering to leave the road. Zack sat where Booth was used to seeing Bones' face, in the passenger seat, with a look on his face that suggested that he was concerned for his own safety. "You get the evidence, I do the talking. When I tell you to do something, you do it. If we're in a dangerous situation, lie low and let me take care of it."

"It would seem that everyone is glad I'm back except you," Zack pointed out.

"Course I'm glad you're back." Booth made a sharp right, forcing Zack to slide over a little in his seat. "I gave you a pat on the back when I saw you, remember?"

"Our conversation would suggest otherwise." Zack readjusted his seat belt.

"Look, you're important, I'm not gonna deny that," Booth tried to say kindly. "But in my humble opinion, your place is in the lab. I'm used to doing this kind of stuff with Bones."

"So you miss Dr. Brennan," Zack said, as if he wanted to be absolutely clear. "That's the reason you don't enjoy my presence. Not because you doubt that I can retain professional capability after living in an asylum for six months."

"Yeah." Booth felt a little uncomfortable. He had never truly gotten over the fact that someone he had worked with, or someone who worked with someone he worked with rather, had assisted a serial killer. "Don't take offense. Just don't annoy me too much and we'll get along."

"I'm sorry I'm not an immensely attractive young woman," Zack shrugged matter-of-factly. "I doubt that you would object to work with me if I were."

The car jerked a little as Booth retained his holding of the wheel and said nervously, "That's not the reason I enjoy working with Bones. She's great at her job."

"I know, I'm just stating that it would be no surprise to me if you found her sexually attractive as well—"

"Looks like we're here," Booth interrupted curtly. "Don't push it, buddy."

Zack peered out the window. "Run-down houses and various bits of litter. This neighborhood appears to be badly-maintained and of fairly low value…is that a school?"

"Talking about the case, finally," Booth muttered, taking out a folder. "Alright here's the run-through: the body was found in a field next to that high school yesterday morning when students were on their way to class. Burborn High School, not the safest school around, I hear. Police secured the area in no time. They told me to warn any squints working on the case that students might have tampered the evidence."

"Tampered?" Zack's tone was grave. He seemed, quite frankly, offended that anyone would dare mess with his evidence.

"Tampered," Booth confirmed. "You know, kids fooling around with the dead body. Seeing if it's real, going up to touch it, maybe grabbing a bone or two to show off…"

"We should've gotten here earlier," Zack sighed, opening the door and going around to retrieve the camera and evidence bags.

"Complaining already," Booth groaned, getting out of the car as well. "You better do your magic evidence-finding the way you used to, or else I'm going to stop being so glad you got out."

"It's not magic, it's the scientific process." Zack retrieved the equipment and followed Booth to the scene of the crime. Police sirens and caution tape surrounded a corner of a fenced field, with the occasional stray teenager dropping by while skipping class. "Magic is science's unfortunate nickname during periods of history when people were less knowledgeable of the causes of natural occurrences around them."

"You're beginning to sound more like Bones everyday," Booth sighed, though a very slight hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips.

"I suppose if I wore a bra and high heels, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"What is it with you and women's clothes?" Booth demanded suddenly.

Zack blinked. He hadn't noticed that this was the third time he'd related to himself to a woman in some way. "I'm…not sure," He said hesitantly. _Oh dear_, he thought,_ I hope that having homosexual desires doesn't lead me to becoming a woman. But then, if I were a woman and I was attracted to men, then wouldn't I be heterosexual? No, no, homosexuality doesn't change your gender, because if it did then the homo would always consequentially turn into hetero and then homosexuality wouldn't even exist in the first place!_

"Zack! Zack, are you listening? Wake up," Booth snapped his fingers in front of Zack's face. "Remember why you're here?" Booth gestured toward the crime scene before him. Zack shook out of his confused expression and nodded quickly.

"Male, what looks to be Caucasian judging by skin tone, though the slight yellow hue implies partial Asian or Middle Eastern descent," Zack observed. He began snapping pictures of the corpse. It was gruesome, but then again he'd seen worse. The face was unrecognizable, the skin having been scraped off by a sharp edge, but the rest of the flesh was largely intact. The arms were outstretched, tied to the fence with what looked like common string. There was a faint trail of dried blood in the grass for Zack to follow. _Just because I mentioned myself in women's clothes a couple times, I do not wish to be a woman._

Distantly, he heard Booth calling his name. "What?" He asked, eyes fully alert once again.

"Age, Zack, you got an age?" Booth repeated in an annoyed tone.

Zack peered into the victim's mouth. "According to the height and build and the presence of wisdom teeth, approximately sixteen to twenty. Definitely high school age."

"Alright, I'm going to need a list of all your attendance records," Booth informed the principal, a nervous looking middle-aged man in a gray suit and Simpsons tie. "We need to find out who's absent today—"

"Any number of kids could skip school," The principal interrupted.

Booth gave him a look. "Well, whoever's teaching classes with missing students can come and help identify the victim."

"You can't just pull my teachers out of class!" He exclaimed, eyes wide. This definitely made Booth narrow his eyes.

"What was your name again, sir?"

A look of fearful comprehension dawned on his face. "Principal Ralph Dawson," He stuttered. "I'm not trying to interfere with the investigation! I just want to keep my school running as smoothly as possible with _this_ in the way—"

"_This_ is one of your students, Principal Dawson," Booth said rather coldly. "Nice school you're running here."

"Was that graffiti always there?" Zack asked, pointing to the indiscernible red lines on the fence a few feet from the corpse.

"I don't believe I've seen it before," Principal Dawson said.

"Step out of the way, please," Zack said, walking backwards and focusing his lenses. As he looked at the paint from a distance, he felt his blood run cold. Despite the many openings formed by the wired fence, it looked suspiciously like _Die Fag._

Zack stayed silent and went off to the side, out of earshot as Booth and the principal argued. A broken cell phone lay hidden beneath a mess of thorns. He extracted it carefully and placed it in a bag, planning on testing for fingerprints and giving it to Angela later for possible personal information. He wondered if trying on women's clothes would be worth it.

There wasn't much else to look for. Footprints were indiscernible in the grass and Zack could find no signs of struggle anywhere further than a ten-foot radius around the corpse. He gave instructions to a forensic team to cut through the fence and remove the part containing the attached victim and graffiti.

"That's the tax-payer's money you want cut away there!" Principal Dawson exclaimed. "Are you even allowed to do that?"

"Actually, that's a piece of evidence directly linked to the murder victim by way of prolonged physical contact," Zack corrected, "_not_ money."

"Nice people skills," Booth muttered. "Thank you," He added as a secretary handed him attendance records. She glanced at the body and winced, looking as if she wanted to leave but Booth stopped her. "Will you be so kind to bring me…Misters Jordan and Carry and Ms. Overlin?"

"Excuse me, I'm going to my office," Principal Dawson sighed. "Come on, Julie, you don't need to look at this."

Booth eyed the two walk away. "I don't trust that man."

"Is that enough to bring him into questioning?" Zack wondered, his eyes following them as well.

"He's arguing against the investigation," Booth said, "and he seems pretty familiar with that secretary of his."

"How would you know?"

"He called her by her first name."

"You call me and Angela by our first names," Zack pointed out, "and you refer to Dr. Brennan as _Bones_. If you're suggesting that he's unprofessional because he refers to colleagues by their given names, then you're suggesting that about yourself too."

"Alright, it's bad enough that I have to work with you for the next couple months," Booth said. "Don't start lecturing me, now."

* * *

"Is Zack alright?" Angela asked, craning her neck to the side only to see Zack standing by the entryway. "He has the eyes of a starving man."

"Looks like he's itching to be back in the lab," Cam said as she gently removed the string from the fence and the victim's wrists. "Ask Hodgins if he can distinguish any particles from the string and spray paint."

"We broke up months ago and everyone's still treating me like his postal service," Angela snorted, taking the tray with no real malice as she walked away. Cam allowed herself a small, amused smile before getting back to work.

"Any progress?" It was Booth from behind her shoulder. Dr. Brennan stood next to him, pulling on her gloves and taking her first look at the body.

"I only just started," Cam said. "Look at Zack, he looks like he wants to be a part of this. He brought us all the evidence and he's not allowed to touch a thing."

"Nothing I can do about it," Booth said. "Potential hazard to the lab, remember? It was your idea to keep him out."

"If Zack and I were to literally switch roles, he would still spend a considerable amount of time in the lab," Dr. Brennan said. "There's no harm in letting him look at the remains. Unless you don't think that a sniper-trained, military-hardened FBI agent like yourself can handle it."

"Oh yeah, kissing up to me, that's definitely going to do it."

"I was actually trying to insult you, but whatever works."

"Zack, get over here!" Booth called, getting fed up. Zack jumped, his eyes widening slightly with surprise and joy. "Come on, get up here and play around with the body."

"I don't intend to play," Zack said eagerly, pulling on gloves.

"No messing with any chemicals, Gormy," Booth added gravely, watching Zack stoop over the body.

"Booth!" Both Cam and Dr. Brennan exclaimed indignantly.

"What? First you want me to keep him away from the lab. Then you invite him over. Then you tell me to keep an eye on him. _Then_ you get offended when I tell him to be careful!" Booth narrated the complications from the last two minutes with various frustrated hand gestures.

"I don't take any offense," Zack said, fully involved in examination. "Dr. Saroyan, would you mind turning the victim onto his stomach?"

"Sure, but why?"

"The torn areas on his clothing suggest sexual assault. I would like to examine his anus."

"Can you not say—" Booth tried to say without wincing.

"On the count of three," Cam was already preparing.

Booth looked away as Cam, Brennan, and Zack all stooped over the victim's rear end. He really didn't enjoy the nastier parts of this work. He liked dealing with real people. _Live _people. And he liked looking at their faces, not their bums.

"Torn tissue and dried blood and semen," Cam observed. "Nice call, Zack. We can definitely get a DNA match out of this."

"Did any teachers recognize the body as one of their students?" Dr. Brennan asked.

"None of them wanted to talk," Booth sighed. "We got three teachers down who had male, Caucasian students absent but they all claimed not to recognize the remains. I mean, the victim's face was cut off, after all."

"Three teachers?" Dr. Brennan practically shouted. "That's terrible!"

"What, that they all kept their mouths shut?"

"That three classes have absent students," Dr. Brennan explained. "And given the number of other classes and ethnic groups that could be attending Burborn, that would imply that a lot of students skip class."

"I used to skip class," Zack frowned, looking slightly offended by Brennan's negative tone.

"That's probably because you already knew everything being taught," Cam said. "I don't blame you though, high school can get pretty boring. I'd skip too once in a while."

"Oh, don't even get me started—" Booth began with a grin, ready to recount his glory days playing hooky, when all three interrupted with dead-panned unison, "We know you were a jock."

"Well," Booth cleared his throat, adjusting his tie, "fine. Shutting out the social guy again. Squints through and through."

"Zack," Dr. Brennan said, a thoughtful look suddenly enlightening her features, "May I see the pictures of the crime scene?"

Zack opened the files on the computer and pointed them out. Brennan immediately zoned in on the graffiti. "Does that say what I think it does?"

"I'm afraid so," Zack murmured.

Brennan glanced back at the victim. "The semen found here is obvious evidence leading to the rapist and potential murderer of this victim. In past cases when we'd find such apparent evidence, the bodies were found in situations that suggested that the murderer tried to dispose of the victim, therefore telltale signs that would lead to the murderer weren't important because they were assumed to deteriorate along with the body."

"That's great Bones, what are you getting at here?" Booth encouraged.

"This victim was tied up and left on display. The manner in which the victim's hands were bound is not only sexual but a means of asserting power over him. The murderer wanted to let others know that he deserved what he got. The remaining semen could even be read as a victory flag of sorts."

"Why would anyone deserve this?" Cam frowned. There were bruises all over the body. The anus hardly looked like a part of a human body anymore.

"The graffiti on the fence says _Die Fag. _I have good reason to believe that this is a result of a hate crime against a young gay man," Dr. Brennan concluded. "That should give you a lead, Booth."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N – **I recently discovered that Eric Millegan is an openly gay actor (new Bones fan here). That would _definitely_ explain the gay vibes that I kept getting from Zack throughout the show. It doesn't stop me crushing on him though. ^^"

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"I'm investigating a gay hate crime," Booth sighed, back at the wheel with Zack at his side. "Somehow I knew this might come up, but I hoped that they would all happen, I don't know, somewhere down South or in the Midwest where someone else can take care of it."

Zack's eyes widened. Booth was prepared to call it fear in his eyes, but he wasn't entirely sure why. "Zack? Are you okay?"

"Are you homophobic?" Zack blurted out. This led to a moment of unsure silence, as they both knew that this was a pivotal peak in their working relationship and it all mattered on how Booth answered that question.

"I…no, no, I'm just…" Booth wondered how he was going to explain this. "I'm just a little squeamish, you know? It's like…" Booth searched his head for a comprehensive example. "You and Bones like dead people and I don't. It's kind of like that."

"Oh, alright." It seemed to really dawn on Zack. "I believe I see the connection. I just thought that, well, you are quite religious—"

"I might not chat up many gay guys for fun, but I do not approve of the way people use God to justify crimes like these," Booth snapped. "Are we clear?"

Zack said nothing. They drove on for a while. At the next traffic light Booth turned, now effectively calmed down, and asked, "What information do we have to work with here?"

"His full name is Gabriel Simmons. He was enrolled as a full-time student at Burborn High School, making of course all one thousand and eighty-two students and fifty three faculty members suspects—" Zack ignored Booth's groan of discontent "—Here's a picture of what he likely looked like before his face was scraped off with a sharp metal object, the marks indicating that it was a smooth blade about five to seven inches long."

Booth glanced at Angela's sketch. Then, he couldn't help but point out something. "His name was Gabrielle? Are you sure? Sounds like a girl's name."

"It's pronounced Gabriel," Zack corrected, "_Gay_-briel. As in I enjoy video games, they make me gay."

Booth snorted in outright laughter. "That is the biggest most _hilarious_ coincidence I've ever heard."

"I'm positive we've come across more amusing coincidences in the past."

"No, for the time being, this takes the crown," Booth kept chuckling. "_Gay_-briel…" Zack shot him a look and Booth cleared his throat. "Alright, so did his face get chopped off before or after death?"

"Due to the significant amount of dried blood left on the muscle tissue, it's been inferred that the skin, nose, and lips were scraped off prior to death when the victim's blood was still flowing in a functioning circulatory system," Zack said. "Dr. Saroyan believes that the victim suffered quite a lot; there's evidence of heavy bruising at the pharynx and torso which are the most likely causes of death."

"The victim was choked to death? Beaten?"

"He was definitely sexually and physically assaulted, and choked either during intercourse or shortly after. The blood loss from the face wound greatly decreased the flow of oxygen, thus increasing the rate at which he died."

"Choked, face sliced off, and raped all in one night," Booth shook his head gravely. "That sounds like a big agenda. We might be looking for more than just one murderer."

"I'm not prepared to make that inference yet. We should refer to Angela once all the data's gathered so that she can form possible scenarios," Zack was quick to dismiss Booth's suspicions. He studied the delicate features of Gabriel Simmons. The victim was half-Asian, as he had suspected, and had round eyes and soft cheekbones. "He was quite attractive," Zack added before he could stop himself. "I mean—I was just commenting objectively about his physical appearance. The slicing of his face is, after all, involved."

Booth blinked at Zack's defensive tone. Zack frowned and stared at his knees. This wasn't awkward at all.

"This isn't the way to Burborn High School," Zack pointed out, looking around out the window. "Why are you stopping the car?"

"Change of plans, I'm not sifting through a thousand students and teachers to track down this killer. We'll visit his parents first, inform them of their son's death, give them some alone time, get some background information that'll help…"

"We haven't finished reviewing the evidence." Zack seemed majorly disappointed.

"We can take care of that later. For now you'll give me the kid's address and we'll let his parents know that he died."

"57 Carroll Street," Zack declared, finding the information in the folder almost immediately. "I memorized all of the street signs on the way here. Go back toward Jordan and turn left on Lipson. Carroll Street is further down Lipson."

"That is _not_ normal," Booth muttered under his breath, but he drove on, grateful nonetheless.

* * *

"Alright Sweets, I gotta talk to you," Booth announced as he strolled into Sweets' office. The young psychologist looked up, completely startled, as his mouse darted forth to pause his game of Warcraft 3.

"Agent Booth, you can't keep barging in like this, I was preoccupied—"

"So you know how I have to work with Zack in the next couple cases," Booth said, sitting down. "And you know this new case we're working on. The gay hate crime. High school boy killed. Well we went to see the victim's family today and I'm beginning to get these…_vibes_."

"Vibes? From the family? You want me to observe them for you?"

"No, no, from _Zack_."

Sweets paused. This sounded interesting. Perhaps Warcraft 3 could wait. "Really…"

"Zack was pretty…empathetic," Booth explained, "which is rare because it's Zack and he's, well, Zack. He's like Bones, he just doesn't get people. But we were talking to the parents about the way their son died. There was a little drama between them, because the mother knew her son was gay and the father didn't and he left the room while she broke down a little…and suddenly Zack started trying to comfort her." Booth finished his sentence with a note of confusion; not even he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Did it work?"

"I—yes! The kid knew what he was talking about! He explained to the poor woman the biological difference in homosexuals, or whatever big science-y reason he had to offer to convince her that her son wasn't abnormal or faking it or whatever."

Sweets raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that just another indication of his extensive knowledge? It sounds like his _big science-y reasons_ are purely objective."

"If you'd been there, you would've understood," Booth shook his head. "The way he talked to her; he was _nice_ about it. He was so…" Booth paused, searching for the right word, "knowing."

"Knowing?"

"Knowing."

"You're suggesting first-hand knowledge?" Sweets said. "Oh wait…"

"And there are other things," Booth added, "like joking about wearing bras and saying that the victim was, you know, a good-looking guy."

"Agent Booth," Sweets said sternly, looking as intimidating as he could, "I'm surprised at you. The Jeffersonian is an equal opportunity employer, and does not discriminate against—"

"Why does everybody assume that I'm the bad guy here?" Booth exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air a little. "I'm not trying to get him fired just because I think he might—_might_—be gay. Look, think about it, say we catch the murderer or murderers or whoever did it. This is a hate crime; Gabriel Simmons was targeted because he was gay. Not only does that put Zack in mortal danger, but his bias might make it hard for him to continue the investigation. See?" Booth smiled victoriously. "I'm looking out for him. He can't work this case."

Sweets studied him intensely. Booth never did like being looked at like a lab rat. He squirmed a little in his seat. "Does Zack show any signs of fear for his life?"

Booth thought for a moment. "No," He admitted slowly.

"Any emotional trauma? An unreasonable amount of pity for the victim? Any signs of working with you unwillingly?"

"It's too early in the case to know that."

"Exactly," Sweets said, proceeding to proclaim, "You're forming an opinion too quickly based on a loose collection of assumptions based off Zack's behavior. Now, I can't say that I haven't suspected from time to time that he's gay as well—"

"See? You thought so too!"

"—but! But, assuming that no one has knowledge of Zack's sexuality, aside from close friends and family I imagine, and assuming that Zack's performance isn't suffering from his 'bias', I believe he's not only very capable but quite safe as well."

"Sweets," Booth warned.

"Honestly, it sounds to me like you don't want to work with him because you're uncomfortable with his sexuality," Sweets concluded bluntly.

A little staring match ensued. Booth's slightly slacken expression glared at him apprehensively. Sweets looked back head-on, expectant and ready.

"Don't make it sound like that, Sweets," Booth frowned.

"What? I heard that initially you were very against the idea of working with him."

"Alright, that's just because _Bones_ and I are partners and we work well together," Booth snapped. "I enjoy working with Bones. I didn't know Zack was gay and I still don't know. But if he is, how do we know he's not next to get tied up? Raped? Beaten to death?"

"Why don't we meet tomorrow at ten to discuss your working relationship?" Sweets said with a smile. "I'm actually quite interested in the way you two might interact."

* * *

**A/N - **Zaaaack Addy would like to hear your reviews. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – I want to make all the case work sound realistic yet it's too damn hard. "

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Zack entered Sweets' office at 10:18 the next day with a glass of orange juice in his hands. The two men who were already seated looked up, annoyed. Zack frowned in his own defense. "I was talking to Angela about the spray paint left on the fence. We spent a lot of time trying to narrow down the producer because Hodgins derived from the particle makeup that the spray paint must have been handmade—"

"We can discuss that later, for now let's just get this over with," Booth interjected, pointing bluntly at the empty seat next to him.

Zack sat down, trying to bury his slight scowl in his orange juice. "I'm not sure why I'm here," He confessed to Sweets. "What have I done wrong?"

"On the contrary," Sweets said, "you've been doing well; too well, in fact. Agent Booth has told me that you were surprisingly understanding with the victim's parents."

"Surprisingly understanding?" Zack repeated, looking at Booth.

"Strangely empathic, even," Sweets added.

"Sweets, this whole thing is really unnecessary—" Booth had tried to talk his way out of this before Zack arrived, and maybe he could keep trying, but—

"Booth's gay-dar seems to have been set off by your behavior."

—too late. Booth went face forward in the sheltering of his hands. _Facepalm._

"…What exactly is a gay-dar?" Zack asked. "Do you mean gator, as in alligator? Booth, I find it highly unlikely that you're setting an alligator on me." He looked accusingly at Booth, whose face did not emerge from his hands.

"Learn some slang," Booth simply sighed, his voice heavily muffled.

"Zack, I'm going to ask you a serious question, and before you answer, you should know that I am _very_ open-minded and unprejudiced, _very_." Sweets took a deep breath. "Are you gay?"

Sweets looked directly at Zack, his hands folded patiently on his lap. The room seemed to be taken over with silence and the drum of the AC. Booth held his breath.

"Yes, did Angela tell you?" Zack answered calmly, as if he was just reporting on another lab result.

"Knew it!" Booth cried. "You see? Unsafe. Bad."

"Agent Booth confided in me his concern about having you work on such a controversial case," Sweets said in response to Zack's incredulous eyebrow raising. "He's worried that not only might the terrible death of a young gay man trouble you, but you might be the next target."

"You're concerned about my safety?" Zack looked positively amused.

"Is it really that surprising?"

"Actually," Sweets cleared his throat. "Though I don't doubt Booth's good intentions, I believe we ought to explore any ulterior motives he may have for wanting to take you off the case."

"I'm _not_ homophobic," Booth said firmly. What did he have to do to get that out there loud and clear?

"Not intentionally, no" Sweets said, quickly holding up a hand. "In such a politically correct modern era, many people take issue with being labeled as prejudice. However, you were raised in a Catholic household, correct? And you served in the military?" Booth grunted slightly. "Those are two environments where homosexuality is known to be looked down upon. The mentality that they've instilled on you hasn't disappeared, Agent Booth, it's still present in your subconscious."

"I believe the analogy he used was that Dr. Brennan and I enjoy looking at corpses while he doesn't," Zack offered helpfully.

"Really? When was this?"

"After he expressed discontent about solving a gay hate crime."

"Aha, discomfort with the topic—"

"Sweets!" Booth practically growled. Both of the younger men paused, positively alarmed. "This isn't about my personal beliefs or history or _anything_. This is about my duty as a federal officer obligated _by law_ to catch the criminals and make sure no one else dies in the process. You," he said, pointing directly at Zack, "You're not going to talk to the press or any outside friends or family about the case. We don't want anybody knowing you're investigating. If there are any threats on your life, you need FBI protection immediately. And _you_," he rounded on Sweets, "mind your own business."

With that, Booth strolled heavily toward the door, saying as a last-minute farewell, "And keep those girly instincts down, will ya?"

Zack stared at Booth's now empty seat, as if he wasn't sure he'd just seen him leave. "I wasn't aware I was in any danger."

Sweets raised his eyebrows, looking as if he wanted to giggle. "Booth may seem ultra-heterosexual, and a little squeamish at that, but he also prides himself in being a morally responsible all-American man. He seemed very protective of you just now."

"He also reminded me of Hodgins," Zack said. "Extreme paranoia."

"Oh, he reminds you of your best friend now?" Sweets searched Zack's expression with great interest, but got nothing. Zack stared at him with the usual bemused look.

"Dr. Saroyan believes that this crime was most likely committed by a group of unfriendly teenagers, but Hodgins is convinced that there is a complex secret society devoted to making a cultural statement by beating and killing homosexuals. He drew connections between this murder and those of Matthew Shepard and Brandon Teena. I admit there are some similarities; Shepard was tortured prior to being left dead and Teena was sexually assaulted."

"And what's your opinion?"

Zack looked slightly insulted. "I don't form opinions, I gather data."

"Of course, of course," Sweets sighed. Zack didn't seem upset about talking about the case at all, nor did he show visible signs of discomfort talking about previous hate crimes. This was good.

"Zack, just to make this clear," Sweets said, "because it's my duty to make sure that you are fit to work this case; how do you feel about being gay?"

"How do I feel?" Zack repeated. "How can I possibly feel anything? I realized that I was gay approximately three months ago and I haven't had the time to pursue a relationship. I don't feel anything."

"Let me phrase this differently: are you comfortable with your sexuality?"

Ah, there we go. The right question. "Of course, why wouldn't I be? Homosexuality isn't an abnormal occurrence in nature. It's found quite commonly in animals, not to mention in recorded history."

"So seeing this crime before you," Sweets went on, "seeing something like this committed because the victim was gay, as you are, doesn't make you feel worthlessness or self-disgust in any way?"

Zack's brow furrowed. "No, that sounds rather silly."

"Fear?"

"I'm constantly next to Agent Booth." Well, that's self-explanatory.

"Then I feel very confident in letting you return to work," Sweets grinned widely. "Any questions?"

"No," Zack said simply as he got, but then changed his mind and sat back down. "Yes, actually. In your opinion, am I going to turn into a woman?"

"I…" Was this what Booth had meant by _girly instincts_? "No. Do you want to?"

"I don't, I like being a man very much, which is why I'm asking you if me being gay will alter my gender-related behavior at all."

Sweets cocked an eyebrow. He couldn't for the life of him see Zack in a dress, flipping out his nails for inspection, and the very thought of it rather unnerved him. "I'm not sure I see that in you," Sweets chose his words carefully, "But if you continue to have reasons to worry, you can come talk to me. We can discuss…I don't know, your manhood. Keeping it, I assume."

Zack thanked him and left the room. That hadn't gone nearly as awkwardly as he'd thought it would.

* * *

Booth later found Zack in the lounge, studying the contents of a case folder with deep intensity. Booth swore that one of these days lasers would shoot out of his eyes. Zack was diligent. Zack was sharp. Zack didn't seem all that different, aside from the occasional odd remark. Booth deemed it safe, at least for now, to continue working with him, and went to sit down next to him.

"We have some interrogating to do today," Booth reminded him. "I brought in Gabriel's father and some kids who were caught playing around at the crime scene. When the police told them to stay away they fought back, tried to act tough."

"Do those high school students include any of these names?" Zack asked, handing over a list.

Booth grabbed the sheet of paper. "Where'd you get this?"

"Angela was able to repair the broken cell phone from the crime scene and we retrieved Gabriel's list of contacts and according to the records these were the people he kept in contact with," Zack explained. "Some sent rather nasty text messages."

"Good lead, we got a match. Roy Farrwell. Alright up you go."

Zack didn't move. "Do I really have to help with the interrogation?"

"You're the one with all the evidence," Booth said, beginning to gather Zack's papers up into a pile, "And you're the one with the sudden magical empathy. Come on and do your job."

"I was hoping to clean the bones myself today," Zack sighed, though he followed Booth. "You realize that we have no clear lead yet? The marks on the victim's face were most likely caused by a common, mass-produced kitchen knife. The string is no less ambiguous; brown sisal two-ply twine, used for any number of reasons. Hodgins is examining particles left under the victim's shoes and his clothing, however. He said he'll get back to us."

"What about all the, uh, stuff going around in his rear end?" Booth pointed out. "Skin, blood, semen, those could all be the murderer's."

"The blood and skin are the victim's own. Traces of lubrication and polyurethane were also found, however."

"What?" Booth _hated_ squint-lingo.

"The sexually assaulter was using a condom," Zack stated simply. "As for the semen, we need DNA to compare it to, and we haven't any suspects available."

"And that's why we're on our way to question possible suspects!" Booth exclaimed, agitated out of his mind. "Come on, in you go." He pointed to his car. Zack pouted slightly.

"I wanted to clean the bones," He repeated. "Dr. Brennan and I might be able to uncover much needed information."

"I'm really not in the mood to argue."

Zack stared at Booth's stubborn jaw and brow line straight as a ruler. He stood on the other side of the car, watching like a hawk for Zack to get into the passenger seat so that he could finally jump in and drive.

"You know, I appreciate your concern for me," Zack smiled, the statement seemingly random, but it concluded Zack's train of thought rather nicely. He got into the car. Booth stared, not knowing if that was a compliment, apology, or neither.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – Haven't updated in a while, sorry. I'm actually a couple chapters ahead, but I'm trying to keep it that way. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"Mr. Simmons," Booth began. The man sitting across from him was pale, thin, yet had a certain aged vigor to him that had attached itself to the muscles of his neck and cheeks. He was a man of strength, and he was glowering threateningly at Booth, because he could sense the man in Booth as well. "Where were you the night your son died?"

"Home," Simmons answered stoutly. "Eating dinner. Where he shoulda been."

"Where he should and should not have been doesn't matter anymore, now that he's dead," Booth said. He didn't break eye contact. "You were home, on 57 Carroll Street? Do you have any witnesses to confirm your whereabouts?"

"My wife."

Booth stared at him, hard. "You know, usually when I question family members of their whereabouts, they ask what's going on," He said shrewdly, his eyes searching for some emotion in Simmons' face but finding none. "They immediately get defensive. _I would never hurt my own son_, or something along those lines." Simmons remained silent. "But you would, wouldn't you?"

"I'm very sorry that Gabriel died," Simmons growled. It was the first time Booth had ever really heard him say his son's name. "But I can't accept him as my son no more."

Booth glanced at Zack, who was sitting beside him and staring at Simmons as if he'd never seen a human being before. He resisted the urge to sigh; magical empathy, begone. "It says here you were previously charged with and arrested for physical assault, twice." Booth gazed at Simmons, inquiring with his eyes. "You got a temper problem?"

"I was young," Simmons spoke as if the answer was obvious. "I liked to pick fights."

"Did the fights stop? Or did they just continue in the household instead?"

Simmons narrowed his eyes. He knew what Booth was implying. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, but I do know that your son was killed because of certain cultural differences, and your attitude isn't making me any less suspicious."

"Don't give me any shit about _cultural differences_, my wife's Mongolian," Simmons' anger had truly erupted now. His previously staid, cold eyes finally opened. "Yeah, I'd give the boy a conk on the head if he snuck out again or said something stupid. I was trying to teach my son a lesson, get him be a man. Once he got wound up in all that weird teenage stuff though—boom…I lost him."

Booth did pick up on something, like a hound zoning in a scent. "You say he snuck out a lot?" He asked, casually making a note in one of his little scribbling pads.

"Yeah, through his bedroom window," Simmons said. He looked to the side, shaking his head dolefully. "He should've stopped all that shit, you know?" His eyes were gleaming, but they didn't look entirely like tears. "All that dumb teenage shit. Whatever gay stuff he thought was real. He should've died a better death."

Booth's raised eyebrows were noticeably peeved. He didn't like this man. "What makes you think he should've died at all?"

"Look, you can lock me up, kick me around, whatever. I don't care. But I didn't kill Gabe. Why would I give my wife reason to cry like that?"

* * *

"Not the killer," Sweets said the moment Booth and Zack walked around to the other side of the two-way mirror. "Zack, you didn't talk at all."

"He was highly intimidating," Zack declared defensively.

"I'm not sure," Booth grimaced, as if the interrogation had left a bad taste in his mouth. "He said he didn't know his son was gay but he could've been lying. Didn't it sound like Gabriel got on his nerves a lot?"

Sweets shook his head gravely. "Mr. Simmons sees himself as a good father. Gabriel was his only son. Naturally he wanted to see himself in his only living legacy, and was probably disappointed with Gabriel's behavior. He didn't explicitly know about his sexuality, but he could sense it. Hitting his son was a means of doing exactly what he said, teaching him how to be a man."

Booth crossed his arms. Oh, it was the father thing again. "He is _not_ a good father," He snapped with a certain ferocity. "If Parker was found out there like that—"

"He is, in a way. He was trying to protect his son's honor. He clearly doesn't approve of homosexuality, so why would he kill his own son in such a manner that _flaunts_ the fact that he was gay?" Booth didn't have an answer to this. "I say once you get a solid confirmation from his wife that he was at home, you have no choice but to let him go."

Booth checked his watch. "Quick lunch break first. Let the man wait, he seems perfectly happy getting arrested."

"You'll be able to interrogate high school kids…right?" Sweets asked Zack, looking a little desperate. He did have to confirm Zack's sanity later, after all.

"Hopefully," Zack said, enthusiastically revealing his strategy, "I'll be able to remind myself that I have the superior intellect, even if they attack me with foul language."

"Yeah, and watch out for your ass," Booth advised.

Zack looked confused. "My ass can't talk."

* * *

"Roy Farrell, James Delma, and Jesus Ramz," Booth listed the names of the three teenagers in front of him. They all looked rather proud to be there, in their own I'm-young-and-I-invented-all-things-worthwhile way. They also didn't say a thing. Booth looked at Zack out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. "Ahem."

Zack seemed to be working up the courage. He smoothed out his papers and spoke a tad too coldly to get his point across. "According to Burborn High School's records, you all attend said school and were peers of Gabriel Simmons, the young man who was brutally raped and murdered a few days ago. What information do you have pertaining to his death?"

Booth could practically hear Sweets snort at Zack's interrogating skills. The kid was even worse than Bones. And the three high schoolers in front of them still said nothing. One shrugged. Another sneered a little.

Booth frowned at their lack of response, then took over. "You three were caught loitering at the scene of the crime. When a police officer specifically asked you to leave, you threatened him, especially Mr. Delma." Booth looked down on the sheet of paper before him. "You told him to _fuck off_ or else you'll _cut him up_. Is that correct?"

"Pay no mind, dat's just Jem bein' stupid." The one who gave the nasty sneer spoke up. Zack checked his papers. It was Roy Farrell.

"Yeah, it's pretty stupid," Booth said matter-of-factly, "because it's a misdemeanor that you could serve a prison sentence for. How does a year behind bars sound?"

James tried to pull a face, but came up with a pathetic sort of contortion. Roy spoke up again. "He was just talking big. He don't mean it."

"A man of action, are you?"

Roy was quick in discerning what Booth meant by his words. "I didn't kill Gabe," He said immediately.

"According to Gabriel's inbox, you exchanged text messages exactly twenty-one times, four of which included a threat and/or insult," Zack's distinct, almost robotic voice stuck out like a sore thumb amidst Booth's seemingly laidback interrogation and the youthful voices of the three teenagers. "The last one that you sent read: _shuddup if u don't wanna die_."

"I didn't mean dat!" Roy exclaimed. He even sat up straighter in his chair from the involuntary contractions in his muscles. "We done work on dis school project together! He freaked me out a little, was all. I seen what happened to him. I couldn't do suttin' like dat! I'm clean!" He looked furtively at his friends. "I'm clean, right?"

"He's clean," Jesus confirmed, while James said, "Done nothing wrong before."

"If you have such a good rep, big man," Booth said mockingly, "Why bother threaten the police officer? It makes you look awfully suspicious."

No one said anything. The barrier had broken long ago, and the three teenagers who sat across from them looked less like men and more like boys.

"There's something you're not telling us," Booth said.

"Nothing you need to know!" Jesus said quickly. His voice cracked slightly in his haste to talk.

"Look, either you tell me what you know or all three of you get charged with misdemeanor for verbally assaulting a police officer." Booth's voice was rising steadily. "And that _does_ mean one year in prison. Do any of you feel like starting a criminal record?"

There was a little wincing at this. Roy cleared his throat. "Look up Bobby Vogue," He muttered reluctantly.

"Go on."

"He and Gabe were…" Roy gave them a look. "You know. Doin' it. But no one knew. I had to walk in on 'em."

James and Jesus sputtered noises of surprise; they obviously hadn't known about this. "Gabe said he'd tell everyone Bobby was a secret fag. Heard them fighting." Roy peered at his interrogators, as if he'd had quite enough. "Can I go now?"

He could, because they finally had a real lead.

* * *

"Hey Zack!" The minute Booth and Zack entered the Jeffersonian, Hodgins was there to greet them. Or Zack particularly, rather. "Just in time! Looks like Angela's got a date for you."

Zack stopped dead in his tracks. Within the second, he had dropped all the files he'd been toting around in his arms out of the apparent mind-numbing shock that these words seemed to provoke.

"A date, huh?" Booth raised his eyes warily. This was quite unexpected.

"I am not socially prepared for this," Zack gulped.

"Nonsense, she said that you would just be having sex," Hodgins shrugged, hands on his hips in a ready stance. "Okay, maybe one of those _dinners_ that you arrange beforehand but basically this is just to get you laid. By the way, I got the results from the substances under the victim's shoes, in case you were wondering."

"Hey Hodgins, come on, you can't just—" But Booth broke himself off. He was about to say _you can't just force the guy into something_. But really, he shouldn't be this concerned about it.

"I can't what?" Hodgins raised an eyebrow. But Zack was still in a state of mental distress.

"I am definitely not socially, nor physically prepared for that matter, to sleep with—who is this?"

"His name is Clint Roper," Angela smirked as she came to join them. "He's from the archeology department. Major hottie, insanely intelligent, I've been trying to get him into bed for _ages_ and my poor heart was torn into bits and pieces when I found out he was gay. But of course, that means that you're going to meet him at the lounge tonight at eight to go to dinner."

"What dinner? I thought that the purpose of this arrangement was solely to have sex." Zack was trying to make some sense of the situation.

"Yeah, it is. It definitely is. But he's a gentleman. And I am _forcing_ you to go," Angela fixed him with an incredibly stern look. If there was anything she took seriously, it was dinner, sex, and a combination of the two.

"…I'm unsure." Zack's expression seemed midway between a pout and a frown. "Is he aware that it's me he's sleeping with?"

"Yeah, and this is when it got a little creepy," Hodgins chuckled, now not meeting Zack's inquisitive stare. "You seem to have a bit of an admirer, buddy."

"Clint thinks your ass looks cute in your lab coat," Angela explained succinctly when Zack failed to comprehend. "And damn, I have to agree."

"What?" Zack twisted his spine, trying to catch a glance of his own rear end. Booth groaned and massaged his temples. What insanity was this…?

"So, uh, when you're done checking yourself out," Hodgins cleared his throat, "Dr. Brennan and I would like to talk to you. You know. Murder case. But you can take your time."

"Of course!" Zack said, straightening his spine immediately. He looked down and began to gather up all his files. "Right away."

"Remember, at the lounge at eight!" Angela called after the pair as they walked toward the platform. She snickered pleasantly, in her own lewd yet friendly way. She caught Booth still staring there, saying nothing and looking generally confused. "Booth? You okay?"

Booth jumped out of his reverie. He stared at Angela, who was snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine," He said, backing away slowly. "Have a nice day, and…say hello to Bones for me." With that, he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – Short chapter…but important. =)

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Zack came late to work the next morning.

It didn't escape anyone's attention. In fact, the entire forensics(-and-Booth) team knew that Zack had been picked up at the lounge yesterday evening by the dashing Clint Roper and had not been seen since. They all occasioned glances toward the entrance, though they dared not admit it, and wondered if they would see a nicely satiated Zack or a terribly disheartened one. Somehow, Booth had found his way into Angela's office, questioning the young scientist's whereabouts.

"Where's Zack?"

"Getting over some mind-blowing anal sex," Angela chirped. She didn't find it necessary to look up from her work.

"This isn't funny," Booth replied sharply. "He could be in danger."

"Oh please, this is Clint we're talking about," Angela sighed. "The most _danger_ he could be in is having a majorly sore ass, as far as I can tell." She stood up and made her way over to the main lab. Booth found himself following her.

"That's not what I mean," Booth shook his head. "Look, he's—"

"Zack!" Angela suddenly exclaimed, staring past him at the figure passing through the doors.

"Zack!" Cam looked up from her desk.

"Zack!" Brennan had caught sight of him as well.

"Zack!" Hodgins felt like chiming in.

"Good morning," Zack smiled rather sheepishly, though the smile vanished when he spotted Cam's stare. "Dr. Saroyan, I'm so sorry I'm late. This is unacceptable on my part, especially since returning to the Jeffersonian is a privilege that I haven't won yet."

Cam took in the sight of him, with hair dark and slightly damp from recent showering, with clothes clearly the same as yesterday's. His hands were folded in front of him as they usually were, ready for duty, however the rhythm in his body had changed entirely since yesterday. The remnants of sex were practically engrained in the movement of his blood. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. "I—yes, I accept your apology," Cam said. "But you know, consider this a free pass. You deserve it."

"Zack," Angela said gravely, "I demand that you step into my office this instant and recount to me every nasty detail you can recall from last night."

The drift of a frown passed through Zack's face. "There…were no nasty details."

"I can _finally_ talk about sex with you!" Angela squealed, somehow getting too excited to care to censor her speech. She half-dragged Zack to her office. Cam gazed at the two as Angela pulled at Zack's arm and practically dragged him down the hall. There was a faint glint of curiosity in her eyes.

"You know…" She began slowly, "it's my business to make sure Zack integrates healthily into this working environment. I better go too."

Dr. Brennan, who had been listening while setting up her workspace, looked up immediately. The look of interest on her face was unquestionably strong. "I-I…" Brennan looked back at her work, and then at Cam and Angela's office, clearly torn between the two. Booth exhaled disbelievingly. Was Zack's sex life really that interesting?

"I believe I should also join," She announced with a stronger voice, "because Zack could provide interesting anthropological insight, as this is I'm assuming his first homosexual experience."

"You can have the remains for now, Dr. Hodgins," Cam smiled as the two walked quickly toward Angela's office.

"What the…" Booth trailed off. Zack's sex life really _was_ that interesting.

"Dude, we just got ditched for a gay guy," Hodgins shook his head slowly. "Not just any gay guy, _Zack_. I am officially depressed for the rest of the day."

* * *

"So…what did you talk about?"

Booth and Zack were back in the car, ready to scout out Bobby Vogue and snatch a DNA sample. Booth felt a little on edge. He realized he was gripping his steering wheel a tad too tightly and tried to loosen his grip. _The guy next to me just had gay sex_, he couldn't stop thinking. _No, no, the guy next to me is just like any other guy…argh but he just had __**gay sex**_.

"What did you expect?" Zack shrugged. "They all asked how it was, and I said it was quite good aside from the embarrassing beginning on my part—"

Booth coughed loudly. _Calm down Seeley, get a grip. You're an adult. You're mature. You've had plenty of sex before. This is just like any other sex…except this is Zack…and he's gay. _"I meant, why were the girls all so, you know…" He trailed off slightly, "interested?"

"They find Clint very attractive," Zack explained, as if he were reporting observations on a new body. "And I agree. His brow protruded outward about a millimeter more than average, and his facial structure was highly symmetrical. He was in good shape as well."

Booth checked his rearview mirror and came face to face with his own heavy brow and symmetrical features. "Sounds like—" But he caught himself, and decided to shut his own mouth before he'd say something stupid.

But then he caught Zack staring at him and saying, "He reminded me a little of you." A lot like Booth, actually, as Zack recalled. Clint was tall, slightly broader than most, with powerful features and a clear need to shave with all the stubble accumulating on his chin. "His stamina was excellent," Zack said, somehow unaware that he was still talking, "and his leverage was, frankly, both precise and forceful—"

"Whoa there," Booth cut him off quickly before he could go into any further details. "That's where you cross the line."

"Angela, Dr. Brennan, and Dr. Saroyan were all very pleased to hear this," Zack clipped defensively, as if he were a little bothered. How could someone _not_ want to listen to his painfully politically correct descriptions of sex? "I'm telling you exactly what I told them."

"Except _I_ don't want to hear about your sex adventures with my squint twin," Booth enunciated, speaking roughly and directly at his steering wheel instead of Zack's probing eyes.

"Your…squint twin?"

"The guy looks like me, you just hopped outta bed with him, I'm feeling a little weird," Booth narrated the situation out. "But not in a bad way," he added hastily, suddenly remembering what Sweets had said about subconscious prejudice.

Neither knew what to say after that, so neither of them said anything. Booth relaxed his posture a little. He was unaware that he'd been sitting stiff as a board ever since they'd begun their journey. He blamed it on stress. Stress made him tense. Zack, meanwhile, was slightly pink in the face, and couldn't help but glance at Booth every now and then.

Long after Booth thought the conversation died, Zack said out of nowhere, "You don't feel comfortable listening to my recounts because they sound like I'm having sex with you instead of Clint?"

Booth's foot slipped. The car jerked to a rough stop, with Zack almost plastered against the front window. Cars were honking behind them. Some threw curses and swears. Booth quickly went back to driving, and that was all he focused on, because as much as he tried no coherent response came out of his mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – School is starting again. So I neeeeeed to get this finished. And…holy crap…I'm a senior?

* * *

**Chapter 7**

He seemed like a nice kid. Casual. Active. A clear-lit face and a pair of eyes that squinted in the sun. Sitting with his teammates waiting for his turn to bat. Mouth splitting into the occasional grin.

But when he turned around and saw Booth flash his FBI badge at the coach—he went tense. Booth raised his eyes.

"Excuse me, are you Bobby Vogue?"

"…Yessir?"

"Wow, you sound really sure of yourself," Booth snorted to himself. He gestured to the fence. "I'd like to ask you a few questions; if you'd just step to the side."

"I-I know why you're here!"

The other baseball players were staring. Gaping. Booth simply continued to lead Bobby behind the fence. Zack frowned a little at their intensity. "If you don't blink, your eyes will dry and become susceptible to infection," He informed them all.

He caught up with the other two just in time to hear Bobby plead, "I'll tell you everything I know, but I swear, I _swear_ I didn't do it—"

"Everything?" Booth repeated. "Well, if you know why I'm here, let's just cut to the case, shall we? Where were you the night Gabriel Simmons was raped and murdered?"

Bobby froze.

"Now that's a big chunk of everything, Bobby," Booth admonished lightly. "I hear that you and Gabriel were quite the pair of friends—"

"Not so much friends as two people who sexually interacted with each other," Zack clarified. Upon seeing Booth's look of exasperation, he added, "I'm trying to help."

"Sexually interacted?" Bobby repeated apprehensively, as if he'd never heard the term voiced so formally.

"Made you nervous that he came on to you?" Booth tried. "And he threatened to give up the secret. Tell the whole school about your affair. So you decided to shut him up and let everyone know that _he_ was the fag, and not you."

"No!" Bobby's expression twisted in horror. "No, that's not—"

"Yeah? Well, we've got a source that's informed us that you and Gabriel were pretty close, but there was also an argument involving the nature of that relationship. And the fact that you can't provide your whereabouts the night that he died makes it pretty suspicious."

Bobby's mouth was pursed. He seemed bursting to say something. Booth was certain that he got him, when suddenly—

"Can I see your hand?" Zack asked, pointing bluntly to Bobby's palms. Booth sighed. Sometimes, this really wasn't that different from working with Bones.

"W-what? Why?" Bobby clasped his hands together, hiding them. "What's that—_hey!_"

Absorbed in observation, Zack grabbed one of Bobby's wrists, seemingly deaf to his protests. "The width of these abrasions running horizontally across his metacarpus is consistent with the width of the twine used to tie Gabriel to the fence."

"Linking you directly to evidence found at the crime scene," Booth noted. His face relaxed immensely. Squints to the rescue, yes! "Sure, the jury won't like sentencing a high school kid like you to life imprisonment, or even capital punishment. But they'll like it even less if guys like you, who go cutting other guys' faces off and tying them to fences, go free."

"I-I—"

"So I'm gonna ask this question one more time. Where were you on the night Gabriel Simmons was raped and murdered?"

Something didn't seem right. Bobby looked anxious but—perhaps a bit too much so.

"Are you—"

His body collapsed on the ground. Everyone who had been watching from afar sprang up, some ran over, most of them gasped and cried out. Booth tried to wave everyone off as Zack knelt to check his pulse. "He's alive, he just fainted."

Booth shook his head in disbelief, staring at Bobby's limp body. "I'll call the paramedics."

* * *

"Fainted?"

"Fainted," Booth confirmed with a shrug. "Just—_plop—_and he was gone. He's recovering at the hospital right now."

Dr. Brennan stood on the forensics platform, her blue lab coat adding a great amount of professionalism to her annoyed skepticism. Booth felt like he was being interrogated. "Was he hyperventilating?"

"No, that I know for sure." No, he had seen nerves go full-speed before. The possibilities of death all around you, including your near future. He remembered those days.

"Then you were probably pressuring him too much."

"I was treating him like any other witness—"

"But to witnesses, you're rather intimidating by nature, Booth," Brennan reminded. "Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not insulting your righteousness ethical standing, I'm merely pointing out that you have a physical stature and an interrogation tactic that could easily result in intimidation."

"I'll be gentle in the hospital, no worries," Booth reassured with a hint of a grin. Looking around, he noticed something rather troubling. "Where'd Zack just go?"

"I saw him heading off with Hodgins discussing someth—"

Eyes widening, Booth turned on his heel and headed straight toward Hodgins' station. Finding Zack, he grabbed him. A bit roughly.

"Ow!"

"You didn't tell me where you were going."

"You were speaking with Dr. Brennan and I was needed here to—"

"Booth, calm down," Hodgins said shortly, eyes flaring. He frowned at the vice grip on Zack's arm. "Come on, let Zack go."

Sighing, Booth arrested his grip from Zack's arm. "Look, the last time you two were alone, you blew your hands up." He nodded pointedly at Zack. "I was there, remember? I had to get that huge thing of glass off you so you could _breathe. _Skin got cut off. Hands burnt."

"Yes, I remember." Zack zealously held up his still-gloved hands as a reminder. "But the repetition of that action here is highly unlikely."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. One, we are not conducting an experiment. That takes away the setting, and thus the opportunity."

"Unfortunately," Hodgins sighed. His nostalgic smile immediately dropped when he saw Booth's glare. "I meant the experiment, not the opportunity!"

"Two, I have relinquished my position as Gormogon's apprentice. That takes away the motive."

"Why's that?"

"I found fault in his logic."

Booth looked like he wanted to implode. "You blew up your hands, you got charged for assisting murder, you got locked up as a psycho for doing it, and you're standing there telling me that you stopped working for Gormogon because _you find fault in his logic_."

Zack seemed to shrink a little. "Now you're just being redundant," He managed to peep.

Ignoring Hodgins' objections, Booth grabbed Zack again. "You're coming with me and you're not leaving until you can think straight."

* * *

Sweets looked up from the loud bang that ensued from Zack opening and closing his door. Now, this was rather unexpected. "Zack, what are you—"

"I'm escaping from Booth," Zack explained calmly, though his enlarged eyes told a different story. After a moment's hesitation, he closed the blinds and locked the door.

"Escaping? What?"

"Yes, which brings me to the subject of our conversation." Zack seemed to be leaning on the door for good measure. He looked pointedly at Sweets, asking for permission to continue.

Sweets stared at his frenzied attempt at privacy. Blocking out outsiders. Intensely personal space. This definitely meant something. "I—sure, why not. Would you like to sit down…or are you more comfortable standing there?"

"Booth has displayed certain behavioral qualities that I believe fall under your area of expertise," Zack stated, ignoring Sweets' invitation. "Usually I'm disinclined to trust psychology, but when I put all the factors into a rational model…I wasn't able to come to a conclusion."

"So it's about your work relationship?"

"Yes."

"And what are these factors?"

"One, my homosexuality. Two, my sexual intercourse with Clint Roper—"

"You slept with Clint Roper?" Sweets couldn't stop himself from shouting out. He stared at Zack with a mixture of surprise and awe in his eyes.

"Unsuccessfully at first…but yes. I never understood that euphemism. You never sleep while having sex. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason!" Sweets cleared his throat, muttering to the side, "Wow, really didn't see that coming."

"Three, Booth's over-protectiveness. We just came back from the hospital. Our suspect confessed to three other participants in the murder. Booth insists that I don't leave his side. He's still convinced that I'll get targeted. Thus, my escaping him."

"Oh, I'm seeing something," Sweets said slowly, eyes widening to stare at Zack. "You're essentially escaping the physicality of the situation to come to me, the mental and emotional evaluator. There's something in your physical working relationship that you need emotional consulting on."

"…You think so?"

"What do you think?"

Zack frowned. "I remember…Booth called Clint his _squint twin_."

It was a small fact that was begging for more attention. Sweets leaned forward. "Go on?"

"Clint resembles Booth; physically, that is. I mentioned this and recounted a few details, and Booth stopped the car."

"He pulled over?"

"He slammed the brakes by accident, but kept going afterward. He didn't say anything."

"Hmm." This was characteristic of an uncomfortable Booth. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. I asked him if he felt oddly that it sounded as if I had sex with him instead of Clint, and that was his response."

"_That's_ what you asked him?" Sweets jumped out of his chair and stand in front of Zack, who was looking perturbed at this sudden change. "Alright, you have to tell me this. Think back to the situation. What were the first emotions you remember feeling? Right after Booth reacted, what was your reaction? Use that ridiculous genius brain of yours!"

"I _am_," Zack insisted petulantly. "I just don't document emotions because they are vague and imprecise. I have a better way of discerning reaction."

"What do you mean? Just tell me—what were you feeling?"

"Arousal."

Sweets blinked. Oh wow. This was just getting better and better. "Really?"

"Amongst other things, but most clearly and objectively I was aroused." Seeing Sweets saying nothing, with calculating eyes staring off into space, Zack articulated. "There was increased blood flow to my groin."

"Don't you see what this means?"

"…No. I don't know the cause of my arousal. There could have been a number of reasons—"

"I think the place for you right now is out of my office, not escaping Booth," Sweets exclaimed briskly. He reopened the blinds and unlocked the door, inviting Zack back into the hallway. "Don't worry, I'll consult you later about my results."

"You need time to come to a conclusion?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Sweets grinned.

"I really don't understand psychology," Zack huffed a little, and then strolled determinedly out of Sweets' office.

* * *

"Sweets! Good to see ya." Sweets turned around, only to see Booth closing the blinds and locking the door a mere five minutes after Zack walked out.

"This is just priceless," He snorted quietly under his breath.

"Alright, I'm going nuts," Booth announced, seating himself on the large, rectangular couch. "You're gonna cure me so I can get the job done. Sounds good? Good. When can we begin?"

Sweets regarded Booth with narrowed eyes. "Shouldn't you be with Zack right now?" He inquired lightly.

Booth inhaled with a strange, aggravated hissing noise. "That's _why_ I'm going nuts! You think that I can keep an eye on him, listen to his squint talk, and even worse listen to his _sex squint talk_, all at once? I don't call myself that much of a multi-tasker."

"So you're saying," Sweets began, "that all you want is for me to declare that you're cured, and you can do your job?"

"Exactly."

"Alright, then. You're cured. Off you go." Sweets made a small, shooing gesture with his fingers.

"…What?" Booth's jaw almost dropped. He scanned Sweets' face to see if he was serious. It seemed as though he was. "Sweets, come on. Where are all the big words?"

"Agent Booth, your underlying feelings of frustration aren't stemming from the stress of the job. They're not discontinuing you from performing in the field. So technically, it's not my jurisdiction to point it out, is it?"

"So, what are you saying? I need to get something personal out of the way?"

"Out of the way, dealt with, recognized, anything that eases that frustration," Sweets nodded. "And I'd like to advise—if you value my advice, that is—that you meet with the problem head-on. Confront it."

"Yeah, yeah," Booth stared down at his lap. "Get in there, get through with it. Get in there, get through with it." Sweets had to guess military mantra, or early sniper training. Booth looked up and smiled hesitantly. "Alright, I'll see you later Sweets."

"Good luck," Sweets nodded. After Booth had gotten around to reopening the blinds and unlocking the door, Sweets pulled out his cell phone and pressed speed dial. "Oh, Daisy's gonna love this…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – I have to finish my AP French summer reading and all I can think about is fanfiction. xD

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Bobby Vogue was a good person. His mother taught him so. He played baseball. He made the grades. He set up the Christmas tree because his dad wasn't around to do it anymore. Even though his mother's the Jewish part of the family.

Seeing Gabe in the hall everyday, feeling that little shiver of guilt and arousal down his spine every time the guy looked at him, was like letting out a little fart. Nobody wanted to know. It was natural, it happened like everything else, but it should just stay in his pants, where it belonged. But it had to rear up every time Gabe said he was free after school.

So one minute, he was swapping saliva with Gabe, just to see what it felt like. The next—two months later, actually—he was listening to Gabe's bottled up frustration coming crashing down on his ears. _You think you can laugh about fags with your friends when you're a fag yourself. Fuck you, Bobby. Quit giving me shit! No, fuck you! You're out! I'm gonna make sure you're out to everybody and it won't be so funny any more_.

Next minute, he came climbing out of the pool, spluttering and yelling. There was his half-brother Eric laughing his ass off, and those colleges buddies of his just a bit tweaked out of their minds. Maybe it's the water in his ears. Or just his recent anger. So yeah, he'll try some. Yeah, he'll have a little beer too. Yeah, he'll go on a midnight drive, what's the safe BAC, 0.8, or something? 0.9?_1_ Next minute, they saw Gabriel Simmons strolling aimlessly around the school's soccer fields.

Gabe shot insults right back in their faces. Right back at Bobby's face. He was a tough kid. A bit too tough. The guys climbed out of the car and all Gabe did was keep calling out Bobby. Eric muttered something to his friends. They drove off somewhere. Gabe had got the condom, and they were alone.

It must've been the alcohol. Or the coke. Bobby was just going a bit too hard. Not that Gabe minded, but his moaning sound a bit too painful, so when Eric and the guys came back with the knife, they thought Bobby was on their side. _Ohshit _Gabe saw the blade in the moonlight. He made a run for it. The twine came in. _That'll hold him_. He started hollering. Bobby's eyes reddened as their stared at Gabe's face, maniacal in his fear and anger. It was what he looked like when he'd been screaming at him. _you're a fag yourself_

_Shut the fu—_Bobby wound up trying to yell. Gabe kept hollering. There were houses, just blocks away. They did everything to shut up him. Hits in the stomach wouldn't do. And they hit him again. And again. Someone was spray painting the fence. One of them? Maybe. Eric couldn't stand the look on the kid's face anymore. He sliced off Gabriel Simmons' face.

The next morning, Bobby's mother woke up. _Honey, you have a game at ten_. He looked down. He didn't remember much. All he saw was the condom on his drooping penis, with the blood dried to a crust.

* * *

"The kid had a 3.62 GPA, too," Booth sighed.

Zack looked up skeptically, spoon still hanging from his mouth. "Is that supposed to be good?"

"It is!" Booth snapped, "For people who don't have genius-level IQs. Just look at the school, you think a lot of students walk out of there going to Harvard?" He observed his beer bottle before taking a light swig. "Gabriel had a future going for him. It's a shame he had to get murdered. Especially like that."

"Why do you and Dr. Brennan always drink beer after finishing a case?" Zack eyed Booth's beer. It seemed ominously different from his mac n' cheese.

"It's a celebration," Booth shrugged. "You know. Some relaxation after our victory."

"You didn't want to work with me," Zack pointed out. He was smiling in spite of himself, though he wasn't sure why. "I didn't think celebration would extend to me."

"Eh, we worked out okay." They did. Zack's magical gay empathy reappeared midway through interrogating Bobby Vogue. Booth was half-convinced that Bobby wouldn't have confessed, had Zack not mentioned feeling isolation in high school, different sexual feelings, the moment of self-realization. "That little bowl of mac n' cheese is weak, though. You need a beer to make this celebration real."

Zack contemplated this course of action. "I suppose I should."

"Unless you think you can't stomach it," Booth grinned a little. "Might have to show some ID, too. I can't be held responsible for letting an under—"

"I was above 21 years of age when I began working for the Jeffersonian, remember?" Zack corrected. "Will you buy the beer for me?"

"Oh come on, buy it yourself." Zack shoved his empty wallet in Booth's face. Booth leaned back a little to avoid getting too much leather in his nostrils. "Alright, alright, fine. A Bud Light for my friend, please? Thanks."

"My strength and endurance are constantly underestimated," Zack sighed a little at this.

"Strength from what? Lugging around your microscopes?" Booth gave Zack's arm a light punch. He could admit that the muscles were harder than he expected later. Because someone was tapping on the window.

"That's Clint," Zack explained, waving back. Booth raised his eyebrows. He was disinclined to admit the man looked like him. Booth was the better-looking. Clint was just the one holding up a note card asking Zack if he wanted to watch a sci-fi movie with him at his house. "I think I should go."

"Why?" Booth demanded. The beer hadn't even come yet, damn it. "Hey, be rational. Look at the guy's brow line, it's not, you know…" he gestured to his own brow line as Zack watched with wary eyes.

"Rationally, I would enjoy the movie. And it's very likely that it would be followed by sexual activi—"

"Rationally, I'm giving you the ride home."

"Rationally, I wouldn't need it."

"Alright, I'm done with this." Booth flashed his badge and made a curt motion, signaling for Clint to go away. If the look of resignation on the man's face wasn't enough, Zack was staring at him incredulously.

"I'm not sure why you did that," He said.

Booth shrugged. He seemed to have gotten into the habit of acting oddly around Zack. "Your beer's here. You wanted the real victory experience?"

* * *

"You get drunk too quickly," Booth muttered, mostly to himself because the squint slumped in the passenger seat next to him merely stared straight ahead, eyelids fluttering. Booth had been to Hodgins' house before. He was sure he would be able to find his way to the garage. "Zack! Zack, you with me? Which way do I turn for the garage? Zack!"

"Right," Zack murmured. "If you're going at a speed of ten miles per hour, you should get there in about ninety seconds."

"…still can't believe you actually exist."

He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that he maintained the 10 mph and counted the seconds in his head. He hit 90 just as the door came into the headlights' view. It was completely insane, but actually quite impressive.

"Alright, out you go."

But Zack didn't move. He was staring at Booth—no gaping—with half-lidded eyes and a mouth that had long since gone slack-jawed. His eyes didn't seem to be moving. But, yes, they were; growing rounder and wider until finally Zack's eyes were at the level of intense scientific discovery. "…you're the reason."

"What?"

And then Zack slumped back again, this time with eyes shut in slumber. Booth fell face-forward into his hand. "Ah, shit."

* * *

Carrying Zack up the stairs and into his bed wasn't that hard, once he'd finally found the key out of his back pocket. It really shouldn't have felt that weird. He'd searched people before. He's gotten used to touching people in inappropriate areas by now. He didn't realize there was more than one bedroom, so he dragged Zack into the nearest one and plopped him down.

Zack chose then to open his eyes. "I'm not very drunk," He confessed solemnly. This was met with silence. Booth didn't move. Zack took this as permission to continue. "I'm not very tired, either."

Booth should've noticed it sooner. The tent gathering up at Zack's crotch area. "…I-I…I'm not sure I can do that."

"…Alright." Really? Was it as simple as that? Booth couldn't believe it. He still wasn't budging. "You know, logically, if you can't do it, you would've walked away right now."

"Yeah…that's what I'm doing," Booth nodded, not really moving all that much. He gulped a little. Why was Zack just _lying_ there, erection and all?

"If you could hurry, please," Zack encouraged. "Because I would like to take care of this soon."

Booth nodded slowly, eyes flickering back and forth between Zack's strong stare and stubborn-looking groin. "I can't…" He repeated, just for good measure.

"You already said you can't."

"No, I can't. I can't, I can't—" Where was all this suddenly coming from? Booth was at the doorway now. His hand at the door knob. "I can't do it—damn it, I don't even know what _it_ is!"

Zack gave a slow shrug. "Engage in sexual intercourse," He said softly. Booth froze. Wait. His hand was no longer on the door knob. "Brush genitalia. Encourage arousal. Mutual masturbation. Anal penetration." It was as if, with each sentence Zack spoke, Booth came one step closer. Finally, when he was right in front of him, Zack looked up and said, "Sexual climax."

"You're drunk." The words slipped out of Booth's mouth breathlessly as his hands somehow threw Zack farther up the bed and beneath his own body.

"…I'm not. Neither are y—" And for once, Zack was at a loss for words. Booth stared down at the speech impairment, his knuckles rubbing gruffly at Zack's erection. This was new. And actually quite useful. He usually had to get into the girl's pants before pleasuring her properly.

"No, I'm definitely drunk." Drunk enough to unbuckle his belt and kick his shoes off behind him. "You're drunk, too. So take off your pants."

Zack's spine was already curling with pleasure. He didn't see the correlation between drunkenness and nudity, but rationally, if he wanted what was sticking out from Booth's underwear, he would have to remove his pants.

Booth's hands were everywhere. Not really sensual, just dying in curiosity, as if he'd been itching to corner Zack for a long time. Wondering what Zack's mop of hair felt like, his slender shoulders, his flat chest, what it was like to touch a man, really. They both seemed to be thrusting unconsciously, and when Booth leaned forward to see exactly what kind of different an Adam's apple would make, their erections met full force. Yelp. Groan. Skin finally met lips. Yes, this was definitely happening.

"Zack…answer me…" He was talking between breaths, between thrusts. "How…safe is it…without a condom?" He should really know this. But the genius definitely knew. Zack's voice caught in his throat. Maybe if he stopped rubbing their cocks together, he'd get an answer. But Zack's legs were spreading, and this cock thing rather seemed to be the priority.

Blindly, Zack's hand flew under his mattress, body accidentally bumping into Booth's in a way that wasn't entirely bad, and finally he fished out a small, square wrapper. Okay, not safe. Fine. Booth grabbed it. Tore off the wrapper. Stopped moving just long enough to uncoil the thing down his shaft. He could think about how insane he was later.

"Lube?" Booth suggested.

"Saliva," Zack mumbled. "J-just spit on it."

Booth held Zack's legs up. It really did feel extraordinarily like his usual sex. And Zack's position fit the woman's quite cozily._2_ "You really enjoy this?" He found himself asking.

"I enjoy having a forceful pressure exerted on my prostate, if that's what you mean." Zack looked at him as if it were obvious. Booth felt the blood pulse right down his shaft. How did that annoying voice sound so different with a little change in subject matter? "You look very strong. The increased surrounding pressure would pleasure you too—_aghh._"

He didn't mean to go in all at once. It was _difficult_. And almost painful, at first, but he began thrusting right away. And soon, it was fine. It got better. It got good enough to make Booth grip hard on the sheets on either side of Zack's head. He missed the flowery scent and the breasts, he had to admit, but he couldn't complain. Not when Zack's legs were as good as any girl's. When Zack began buckling down and thrusting in such a way that the head of his own penis head Booth's naval, he lost it.

Harder. Had to go harder. Legs up. Hands keeping them there. Skin slapping skin. Booth had always been too afraid to pound anyone like this before, but if Zack was thrusting back and shaking helplessly and choking on his own moans…then it sure as hell wasn't a problem. And the whimpering sounded this much better than his squint talk. Hitting him from _this_ angle made him whine that incoherent call for more? He did it again. And again. And again.

One minute there was rhythm. Next, pure white.

Then, Booth remembered something vaguely about Zack cleaning up with a towel. They ended up sleeping together, side by side, not quite touching, though Booth's fingertips were somehow in Zack's hair in the morning.

* * *

**A/N – **

_1_ In my state it's 0.08%. Just a head's up. ^^

_2_ This does _not_ insinuate that gay men are essentially women. Men are gay because they are _men_ attracted to _other men_. This was just Booth's way of processing the situation.

So…they fucked. Yayy! Third sex scene I've ever written. I believe I'm getting better.


	9. Epilogue

**Hate Crime**

**Summary** – Zack has returned to the Jeffersonian, just in time for a new case to solve. As they delve into the murder of a young gay man, things get a little awkward for Booth. Booth/Zack slash.

**Disclaimer** – I don't own Bones. I don't even understand half the things the squints say.

**Warning** – boyxboy, some controversial topics about LGBTQ

**A/N** – At first I was going to finish with the sex chapter. But then I decided that even if Zack didn't particularly mind, Booth deserved a proper (albeit short) ending. I'm so glad I stuck to this and finished it. A big thank you to all the readers. =)

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**[Epilogue]**

After two more homicide cases and numerous trips to Hodgins' garage, Booth got his partner back.

It didn't feel all that odd anymore, Booth decided. In fact, it was quite nice—having Zack explain lab findings to him in a pleasant, decipherable manner instead of his usual, clipped tones that recited scientific terms Booth wouldn't know forwards or backwards. Having Zack hand him a cup of coffee every time he got one for Dr. Brennan, or sometimes just one for him. Having Zack being a bit more of a human in general, instead of seeming like an experiment gone wrong, as Booth had always suspected.

Dr. Brennan was not usually one to notice a change in interaction. But she did notice something. "You two get along much better," She said, stooping over a skull uncovered in the river bank.

Booth blinked. "No we don't." Zack raised an eyebrow, and suddenly Booth realized how pointless that little white lie was.

"You do, and it's very nice. You seem to work much better that way."

"Anything for America," Booth stated simply, though coughing a bit through his words.

"Patriotism at its finest," Zack mumbled to himself.

"Zack could be assigned to his own FBI Agent," Dr. Brennan remarked thoughtfully. "He definitely has the credentials. Now that he has security clearance and experience in the field…Zack, you ought to consider it."

"And take away the kid's fun?" Booth exclaimed before he was aware of what he was saying. "Come on, Bones. Keep my squints together for me."

"We can't keep you forever, Zack. You're quite brilliant," Brennan snorted, staring at the eye holes. She then peered up at Booth. "Why don't you want another agent to work with him? Because of his sexuality?"

"…I guess you could say that," Booth shrugged. While Brennan frowned and began to admonish "ridiculous societal beliefs", he snuck a glance at Zack. Booth had a feeling it was supposed to be short-lived. That it was rather stupid of him to start in the first place, and that they would have to let up eventually. Though it didn't matter all that much. Zack would be his own Forensic-Anthropologist. And if Zack's FBI agent didn't want to celebrate afterwards, he was always welcome back with them. Him.


End file.
